


Down

by Ghoulish_Disgrace



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Face-Fucking, Voyeurism, call the metal police, degradation kink, dubcon, idc hot is hot, yeah i know, zero in a smut fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 08:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghoulish_Disgrace/pseuds/Ghoulish_Disgrace
Summary: The night of the Fall of Emeritus III.





	Down

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this fic assumes that Papa Zero is replacing III. Enjoy!

_Got to get to the bathroom. Where is the bathroom. Fuck. Missing more of the show with every second_.

Your very first ritual—the lights, the ghouls, the enchantment—it had all been there. Unfortunately, you opted to visit the merch table rather than using the bathroom before the show, and now you’ve had to wade your way through the sea of fans mid-show to relieve yourself.  What a strange venue this is-- unnecessarily twisting hallways, scarcely staffed, and old as all Hell from the looks of it. They really couldn’t have put in a bathroom sign somewhere?

                You turn another corner. The opening of Monstrance Clock can be heard, and you take a quick detour to peek into a room to your right, from where the music seems strangely loud based on where you approximate your place in the building to be. The doorknob won’t turn, but the door itself is just barely ajar—looking very much as though it’s supposed to be keeping people like you out. You pause to weigh the risks, but as usual, your curiosity wins out. You push the door open and sneak inside. The room is pitch-black, but there’s a glaring green light peeking out from another door at the room’s far corner. Then, a flash of purple light. Your heartbeat begins pounding at your ears as you realize that you must be directly behind the stage.

_Why the Hell wouldn’t there be someone in here?_ At that moment, you hear a shuffling in the corridor from which you entered. Rather than risk expulsion from the venue, you feel your way in the dark for something to hide behind. Your throat feels choke-dry, your eyes shift around uselessly trying to make out a shape in the blackness, and then—yes! You feel the edge of a couch pressed kitty-corner against the wall, and quickly scale it to crouch in the corner it conceals. Light floods the room, and you hear two voices, jarringly low-pitched, speaking in hushed Latin. They go silent for a moment, and you’re sure that one or the other has seen you—you try desperately to breathe more quietly, but you’re sure it’s carrying across the room. And then-- a third voice. Latin again. The two figures exit the room; as they disappear from the door, you see their silhouettes marching onto the stage. _What the fuck is happening?_   
  
                The music stops, suddenly. The crowd is screaming, with what sounds like panic rather than enthusiasm. Why did you have to be so nosy? You could be a front-row spectator to whatever was happening out there. Your stomach sinks at the thought that you might’ve placed yourself right in the middle of something here.

The door opens again. The figures carry a third person, tossing him like a doll down to the floor, and take their exit briskly into the hallway. You push yourself upright onto your knees, just enough to chance a peek at the man on the floor. He hasn’t budged, but his eyes reflect the light peeking in from the stage. Is he—

“It is done, Zero.” Hearing English again startles you back into hiding, just in time to avoid being seen by another procession making its way through the first door. The two familiar figures pass through again, trailed by a man in yellow vestments. The room smells suddenly of incense, though none has burned since the show’s opening. The three men head onto the stage, latching the door behind them.

Finally, the slumped man in the corner rises to rest on his hands and knees. He lets out a cough, his breaths heavy and fearful. He whispers something to himself, Latin again, but you catch the word “Zero.” More jarringly, as he speaks, you recognize the man in the corner as Papa Emeritus III. You stifle a gasp in your palm, and look up through the gloom to examine him more closely. He’s shaking, clearly caught off-guard by the events of the night, but his eyes are fiercely focused on the floor, hateful and contemplative. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief, glad at least that he seems unharmed as of yet.

Only, the sigh wasn’t quiet. Not even a little bit. His eyes dart to the corner, clearly still straining to see in the low light, but unwavering from where you’re peeking up at him.

“Yes, little one. I see you.” His voice is strained and dry, devoid of the jubilance you’re used to him affecting on stage.

“Come here.”

You rise, your legs shaking from kneeling uncomfortably for so long. You step over the couch, and make your way to stand beside Papa. He looks up at you, surveying your face, scanning almost animalistically. It’s frightfully embarrassing, standing before your idol with trembling legs, smudged eyeliner, and a gaudy t-shirt adorned with his face. He smiles, finally speaking.   
                “I believe it is time for my retirement. How unfortunate that you would have to see your Papa this way. Grant me pleasure, before Zero has his way with my empire, hmm? Kneel down for me.”

You’re still not sure what most of his words mean— _who is this Zero? What is going to happen to Papa?_ He stands to meet your eyes, maintaining composure despite the blood pooling at the side of his lip. His eyes bore into yours, a snarl forming on his mouth.

“I believe what I said was get _down_ ”

He grips a hand on the back of your neck, pushing you down to kneel at his feet. Your heart is racing, everything is happening abominably quickly. You’re almost frightened at the harshness of his movements, the remorseless voice with which he speaks. It’s almost inhuman. And still, it’s undeniably drawing your desire. The priest has no need for gentleness. His gloved hand slides to the back of your head, pushing your face into his crotch. How much you’ve wanted this, dreamed of this. Your knees against the floor, the fabric of Papa’s vestments pressed into your face, stifling your breath, his slight moans as he forced your face into his growing erection. You’re still terrified that the men from before will return, catching you so far out of where you belong, but the thought is as alluring as it is terrifying. You look up at him, nuzzling your head tentatively between his legs.

“Yes, that’s a naughty little girl. Snooping around like a little sneak, now Papa’s going to spill his seed in the back of your throat because he fucking feels like it.” With these last words, he thrusts his hips forward to push his clothed erection against your face.  You can’t help but whine at these words, shifting closer to him. He pulls aside the papal robes, tugging down the trousers beneath.

“Fucking worthless little thing. Wandering around hoping that one of the ghouls would take a liking to you, was that it? Wanted to get thrown down and fucking degraded? Tongue out, now.”

He frees his cock, holding your face up, guiding your head to lick from the base to the tip, then back again. You strain to keep your balance, he’s certainly not giving it any mind. You lap at him as best you can, drawing your tongue across his impressive length. You wonder if he can sense how much it turns you on to be treated like this, or if he just doesn’t care.

“Yes, that’s a good girl. Tell your Papa how you like it, beg me to be mean to you, or I’ll stop, yes I will. I’ll turn you in and let all the Church members have their way with you instead. And I’ll stroke myself off thinking of all the bad things they’ll do to you up there. Beg me.”

“P—please, Papa, please be mean to me. M-make it hurt, please.”

Papa lets out a deep moan, staring down at you with empty, irreverent eyes. He pulls you back in, forcing your head down onto his erection. You’ve never been one to gag, but the thickness is far more than you’re used to, and you choke a bit as he starts steadily thrusting into you.

“That’s it, little one. I won’t stop, so you’d better get good at this quickly. Now, look at your Papa.”

You turn your gaze back to meet the priest’s, he brings his free hand to smack your face. You moan onto his cock, trying your best to take more of it.

“Thank me.”

“Mmmh, thank you Papa” you whine, mouth still full.  He brings his hand back up, and slaps you again, harder this time. His thrusts get harder, he tightens his grip on the back of your neck. It feels like he’s close, and the throbbing between your legs is certainly more noticeable now—

 

Light streams in murderously bright from behind you, as the stage-side door swings ajar.

                “Well, well. What is this?” The voice that speaks is hauntingly deep, delivered in gravelly breaths.

                Papa turns back sharply to face the figures in the doorway, horror and shock across his face. You try and hide your face, but this proves difficult with Papa’s cock still buried in your throat. You turn your gaze to the doorway. The speaker, clad in yellow papal vestments, must have been older even than Papa I—the low light of the room bounced frighteningly off the lines of his face.

                “How rude of us to interrupt. Emeritus the Third has always been—adept at unrefined depravity, and even in his final hours, I see he allows no exception.” The older priest smiles, lifeless and cruel.

                Papa interjects, “Zero, what is the meaning of this? Need you treat your predecessor so poorly?”

                “Forgive me, young one, but it is quite difficult to take you seriously in your…current predicament.” He gestures to you with a laugh, and you can feel your cheeks flushing horridly as you close your eyes as not to meet the older man’s glare.

                “Now, continue as you were.”

                “Excuse me?” Papa’s retort is desperate and not particularly impressive.

                “You heard me. You love to play so badly, I’m sure the pair of you can entertain me well enough, no?” He sits on the couch in the corner of the room, leaning back slowly.

                Papa stands still; you feel his muscles tense, his mind clearly weighing his options. Suddenly, he snaps back to face you, grabbing you by the hair, pulling you all the way down onto his length. Your eyes tear up, you instinctively raise your arms and push back against his legs.

                “No, little one. You take it.” His voice is hard but trembling, you can feel that he’s gone slightly limp at Zero’s intrusion. You see his face contort in disgust at the thought of your new-found audience, but you revel to yourself in the wrongness of it. The older priest watches amusedly, and from your peripheral vision, you swear you can see him palming his own crotch as he watches you. It sends a jolt of heat between your legs.  You moan enthusiastically onto Papa, acclimating to the feeling of his cock against the back of your throat. You raise your head, and he pushes you back down, his fingers wrapped agonizingly in your hair.

                “That’s it, disgusting little thing” Papa whispers, eyes closed, blocking out the reality of the situation, “So desperate for a mouthful of her Papa’s cum..”

                He bucks his hips haphazardly, hand holding your head in place. From the corner of the room, Papa Zero lets out a soft hiss, and your suspicions are confirmed. You turn your head, hard, catching Papa off guard, to look at Zero, hand buried in his own robes, sneering hauntingly down at you. Papa grabs your chin with his free hand, pulling you back to look up at him, slapping your cheek repeatedly, burying his erection into you a final time.

                “Mmh, fuck---”  

You feel the hot trickle of cum spilling down the back of your throat, and this time you do gag. Mercifully, the priest pulls out at last, allowing you to regain your composure and swallow what’s left of his seed in your mouth.

                Papa Zero, quiet for some time, lets out a low, slow laugh as you sputter to catch your breath.

“Very good, little girl. I see why my predecessor here was so eager to have his way with you, even if mere coincidence brought you together.”

The priest stares pitilessly down to you, parting his legs and leaning back once more.

“Now, come here and greet your new Papa…”

 


End file.
